The Same Soul
by Aoitori
Summary: One Shot: Take a peek into the lives and hearts of young Kurogane and Tomoyo. Spoiler: Volume 13. Please read and review.


Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, worlds, or ideas of Tsubasa Reservoir Chronicle, nor do I wish to.

_Author's Note: This brief episode takes place not long after Kurogane's first meeting with Tomoyo-hime (and his subsequent recovery). If you have not read volume 13 of the manga then you should consider this story SPOILER-tastic. You have been warned._

The Same Soul

Metal grated on metal as the boy's sword darted in to block the sweeping strokes of his two older sparing partners. Though the two were among the largest and most skilled of the castle's trainees, they were, like everyone, wary of the scrawny young man they were facing. It was only at Tomoyo-hime's insistence that he'd been permitted to enter training at the dojo, and even then he was under severe restrictions. He was never allowed single, nor unsupervised combat and Ginryu's use was out of the question; whenever he sparred in matches with real swords he was permitted only a dull training weapon.

All of this was for good reason, of course. Word had spread rapidly, after the fall of Suwa, of a demon child who had raged against friend and foe without discrimination, killing dozens of ninjas in a blind fury. Rumor had it that the crazed boy had somehow been defeated by the pure-hearted magic of the little princess Tomoyo, and that he was still under her preventative, and protective, power. But mere rumor was not enough to assuage the fears of his unlucky sparring partners. They could clearly see the murderous glint in his crimson eyes, though not once did he attempt a killing or maiming blow.

As the boys continued to exchange hits, a carriage rumbled by one of the dojo's open doors. Kurogane gave it neither second glance nor thought; briefly he registered it as a non-threat and continued with the mock battle. There were a few others, however, who did notice and in fact were quite surprised at what ought to be considered a normal occurrence.

"What's the Queen doing here?' one trainee asked another, in a hushed tone, "I thought she wasn't due back until tomorrow." His interest was merely casual curiosity.

"Oh, I hear she decided to come back early," another boy said with a shrug, "to check on the little princess. Tomoyo-hime took ill yesterday, didn't you hear?"

Kurogane, who'd heard the conversation even from his position at the middle of the dojo, started and froze as if someone had smacked him in the face. His sparring partners, on the other hand, were completely focused on the fight and, seeing what they thought was an opening, they both slashed in at their motionless opponent. They realized their mistake at the last moment, but it was far too late to stay their blades completely. One went slicing over his left arm, just below the shoulder, the other cut cleanly into his right side. Kurogane didn't even twitch as blood flowed freely down his arm and soaked through his clothing at the waist. The two boys backed away quietly, muttering their profound apologies while maintaining defensive stances. They were terrified at the thought of what was surely going to be fierce retribution for drawing the demon-boy's blood.

But Kurogane just stood there for a long moment, blood-colored eyes wide with an unfathomable expression, just as every eye in the dojo was fixed on him. And suddenly, in one streak of inhuman speed, he was out of the dojo door and gone, a vague trail of blood spots the only evidence that he had been there at all.

Kurogane ran blindly, his very muscles knew the way to the princess's room by heart. Instead his eyes were focused inward on visions that clouded his thoughts and haunted his dreams: his mother, laughing and happy while hiding the strain of her responsibilities as miko; his mother fighting for air against the terrible cough that kept coming back to torment her; and, worst of all, his mother's soundless cry of agony as the mysterious sword rent through her fragile body. They eye of Kurogane's mind saw these things every day and his waking and sleeping hours were tortured by the memories.

But now, somehow for the first time, he saw these things happening to the little princess-the one person in the world he had left to protect. And the very thought was enough to throw him into a frenzy of terror. He ran through the halls of the castle like the possessed creature he was rumored to be.

He rounded the last corner and saw the princess's ornately decorated door, surrounded by ninjas of the Queen's personal guard. Mere nuisances, as far as he was concerned; he barreled toward them, preparing to charge right through the door. A few of the more skilled among them saw him coming and were instantly blocking his path.

Instinctively he raised his training weapon to dispatch the obstacles but then stopped still as Tomoyo-hime's words echoed in his memory, "Now Kurogane, you must never kill any of the castle folk, ninja included," she'd said in her most stern tone, "if you do," she continued, "I shall have to be very angry at the loss of a valuable worker, but really I shall be sad for that person and his family. You should also know that what you do reflects upon my judgment. Do not allow anyone to believe that you are the killer they say you are, or my people will doubt me further."

For the second time that day Kurogane's opponents misread him and attacked while he did not move, though this time they were less brash and more confident than the trainees so they merely felt the need to beat him to the ground.

It only took a few strokes.

From his adjusted position at their feet Kurogane grimaced as he tried to regain his wind, and then he growled at them, pleading, "You have to let me see the princess. She may be in danger!"

A short, stocky ninja whom he didn't know laughed at him, "Queen Amaterasu is in there," he said, "and we've guards posted inside and out. There's no safer place in the kingdom right now than that very room, you whelp, unless we'd let you into it." He made to give Kurogane a parting kick but the youth spun away and hopped back to his feet, an angry snarl exposing his sharp teeth.

But he made no attack.

He could not force his way through this many ninja without killing one or two and he did not dare break his promise to Tomoyo.

Instead he paced.

He paced like a caged animal waiting for its next meal. He paced around as much of Tomoyo-hime's room as was accessible, which was only two walls, listening, watching, and waiting.

It was several hours before Queen Amaterasu finally emerged from the room, and Kurogane immediately made a dash for the doorway as soon as she had left it. But he was soundly beaten back once again. This time, as he lay gasping for breath, he looked up into the cool, calculating eyes of the Queen herself as she walked serenely on her way. Neither said a word and the momentary contest of wills ended as the Queen walked on, quietly muttering something about "that Tomoyo and her dangerous pets."

Kurogane resumed his pacing, and it was any number of interminable hours before there was movement at the entrance to the room once again.

This time a ninja quietly poked his head out of the door and spoke to one of the guards. Kurogane was, by now, too tired to spend the last of his strength on another mad dash inside so he approached cautiously and tried to hear the words that were being exchanged. "…are you sure?" the guard cast a skeptical glance in Kurogane's direction, "Well, she insists…" said the ninja.

The guard shook his head and turned to address the boy. "What's your name brat?" he asked with distain.

"Kurogane!" the youth answered, drawing himself up to his full height in pride.

The guard sighed and then opened the door further. "Tomoyo-hime wishes to…" and he didn't have time to finish with, "see you," because Kurogane had already quite vanished into the door.

Kurogane rushed into Tomoyo-hime's bedchamber at full tilt and slid to a halt in front of her. She was sitting quietly in her luxuriant bed, that familiar look of bemused curiosity on her face.

"Baka-hime!" He chastised her, for no particular reason than to say something that expressed his frustration. He searched her face with an intense gaze, looking for signs of the frightening illness which plagued his mother. She was slightly flushed with fever, he decided, but otherwise looked fairly healthy.

"I'm sorry…" she began, a twinge of regret colored her expression, "It's only a cold but they're making all this fuss and…"

"Don't apologize." He growled, interrupting her. He had noted the slight catch in her voice that was either the beginning or end of a minor cough, but he was satisfied that it was indeed, not serious.

"It's not your fault being the princess and it's not your fault being sick," he said gruffly, turning next to inspect the room for signs of intruders. He paid particular attention to the wall hidden behind the bed, but he could find no evidence of tampering or traps.

It was, however, when he drew close to the bed that Tomoyo recognized the dark stains at the young man's waist and arm for what they were. She started toward him in concern.

"Kurogane-kun, those injuries!" she exclaimed, for once not knowing quite what to say.

Kurogane looked down at himself, seeing the wounds for perhaps the first time. "These?" he asked, somewhat surprised himself, "Oh, I lost a sparring match." True though it was, he knew it wasn't a very good story—he never lost matches.

Tomoyo frowned in her very delicate way, "There must have been many opponents then."

Kurogane nodded, not quite looking her in the face.

"How many would you say there were?"

Kurogane thought about it for a moment. "I'd say fifteen, at least." It was the number of other trainees at the dojo that day.

"Fifteen?" she asked in mock surprise, "And you're quite certain you didn't kill any of them?"

"Why do you think I lost?" He answered sullenly, and turned his back to her, arms crossed.

She let out a small peel of laughter at the game they played, both knowing it to be a farce.

"But really, Kurogane-kun," she said, the unexpected sincerity in her voice drew him around, back to the bedside, "do not be rash," she continued, taking his hand gently in both of hers, "and get treatment soon."

He stared into the earnestness of her violet-tinted eyes and felt the fear and tension drain from him. He turned away again and sat down on the edge of the bed with a half-contented "Hmph," but he did not retrieve his hand from the tiny ones that held it, from the tiny girl who held his heart.


End file.
